


The Tale of Celebrimbor and Erestor

by EarendilEldar



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Celebrimbor's Life is a Tragedy, Good Intentions, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Romance, Soulmates, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: An enduring love grows through the rise and fall of Eregion.





	1. Beginnings

_Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1259_

Celebrimbor sat in a tower in Ost-in-Edhil, staring morosely at scrolls and parchments covering the table before him.  From the window to his left, he could see the House of the Mírdain, wherein the smithies glowed and hammers rang out.  That was where he desired to be, amongst the fire and metal, in his leathers with arms bared – not sat in a chamber in restricting, wholly impractical dress robes.   This was not what he’d bargained for when he acquiesced to the brotherhood’s growing calls to make Eregion their own land, free from the rule of the White Lady and her Sindar lord.

“My lord?”

Celebrimbor shook himself and turned to the Elf at the doorway.  “Master Erestor, please come in.  Forgive me, I’m afraid you caught me day-dreaming.”

Erestor gave the merest hint of a wry grin before stepping into Celebrimbor’s chamber.  “And I’m afraid I’ve come to add to your burden,” he said, looking rather pointedly at the table between them.  There was no place to set the papers he’d brought, so instead he handed them directly to the Lord.  “The translations of the trade agreements with Moria.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Celebrimbor said, looking around for a place to set the papers where they wouldn’t get confused with some other articles.  He sighed deeply.  “Well, I suppose I might handle this now, as there’s nowhere to which I may consign it till later.”

Erestor smiled sympathetically.  “If that will be all…,” he said, by way of asking if there was anything else he could do.

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said resignedly.  “At least until I’ve drafted….”  Then he stopped and looked up at Erestor for a long moment.  “But mayhap you can help me.  I would not be detaining you from some other task, would I?”  Celebrimbor rose and came to usher Erestor over to some comfortable chairs arranged across the room. 

“No, my Lord, of course not.  My only tasks are at your command,” Erestor said, somewhat bemused.

“Now, none of that!  I’m not a king.  I _ask_ for your assistance, I would never require it.  But, come, if you can help me, let us sit and discuss these proposals in plain terms, that I might be able to speak to our Dwarven allies as though I actually understood these documents.  Not that I will sound very knowledgeable in their own tongue as it is, but let’s fight one front at a time, shall we?”

Suddenly, Celebrimbor felt a whole new enthusiasm for this chamber-work and hurried to fetch a bottle of wine and a pair of goblets.  Maybe this task could be accomplished with something approaching camaraderie and comfort instead of forced from him like secrets at the hands of a tormentor. 

Together, he and Erestor read through the agreements bit by bit.  Wherever Celebrimbor came across some phrase that seemed designed to obscure its true meaning, he would ask Erestor to ‘melt down the words and pour off the dross’ for him.  He also asked Erestor’s opinion of the terms and whether they were as beneficial as they might be for the Mírdain without slighting their friends in the mines.   Erestor pointed out a few sections that could be improved with some alteration and found himself running over to fetch various other pieces from Celebrimbor’s table to reference and support his claims, making connections between other agreements that Celebrimbor was sure he’d have only found years later in hindsight. 

Finally, Celebrimbor asked Erestor to take supper with him to celebrate what he thought would prove an extraordinarily just trade system with the Dwarves, including the construction of a dedicated road between their two lands, symbolizing their cooperation and allegiance. 

“Your skill is that of more than a scribe, Master Erestor,” Celebrimbor said as they shared a roasted pheasant.  “Would you consider accompanying me to Moria as my Chief Councillor to present this agreement?  You have much greater skill than I in the Dwarvish tongue, for one, and you are clearly a shrewd and fair-minded negotiator.”

“You accord me quite an honour, my Lord,” Erestor said, looking as though he was doubtful he was equal to the task. 

Celebrimbor reached across the table to take Erestor’s hand in his.  “Celebrimbor is my name.”

Erestor smiled slowly.  There was more than the mining of mithril evident in the glitter of Celebrimbor’s sapphire-blue eyes.  “Aye.  But it is a long name.”

Celebrimbor’s brows knit in momentarily uncertainty until he realized the tease in the sharp grey eyes of the Elf before him.  Then Celebrimbor laughed deeply.  “I see I shall have to be of very quick wit with you about.”

Erestor just tilted his chin in agreement.

“Very well,” he said, reaching for Erestor’s other hand in a way that made plain they were no longer talking in official capacities.  “I don’t mind if you call me Celeb, perhaps.  But may I, then, call you Eres?  Only seems fair….”

Erestor laughed.  “Yes, you may.  Though I daresay you will be the first to do so.”

“Good.  I like it.  It sounds like _ereg_.  And, perhaps, I shall also be the last….”  Celebrimbor leaned in, squeezing Erestor’s hands gently as he pressed a chaste kiss those pink bow-shaped lips.

* * *

When Celebrimbor and Erestor returned from their negotiations in Moria, there were a great many plans to set in place: the building of a trade road, a cooperative project to construct special doors at the gate of Moria, and the selection of two of their land’s finest holly trees to be sent and planted where the doors were to be constructed. 

Celebrimbor threw himself into the planning keenly, finally feeling as if he was qualified to be called leader of this new venture of the Noldor.  But, for all that, he now spent not even half his time in his working chamber.  That place was now the province of Eregion’s Chief Councillor, while Celebrimbor eagerly turned back to the work he truly loved.  He found he had some catching up to do, as his fellow smiths had been hard at work in practicing their skills while their leader had been playing servant to ink-stains and papercuts.  Fortunately, through spending a great deal of time working with the fair newcomer whose skill in smithcraft Celebrimbor had never known the like, the leader of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain swiftly attained his status as their most highly accomplished member once again.

Best of all, in Celebrimbor’s estimation, was that each evening when he set down his hammer and tongs for the day and had enjoyed a refreshing bath in the Sirannon, he had supper with his Councillor awaiting him.  While they ate, Erestor would fill him in on the work of the day and they would set down any decisions that Celebrimbor wished to bring before the brotherhood of smiths for their input.  Then they would invariably repair to more private quarters to engage in negotiations of a much more intimate nature.

* * *

One evening, Celebrimbor came in to supper rather later than usual.  He apologized for losing track of time as the season was waning into autumn and the days coming up shorter.  He had been so accustomed to spending the long days of summer at his forge.  Erestor only nodded and turned to the matter of progress on the road and the rows of holly being planted along it on either side.  He was unusually quiet on other matters, but Celebrimbor took little notice, impatient only to get his beloved alone again after a long day’s work. 

Once in his personal chambers, Celebrimbor went to pour them glasses of cordial to enjoy as they held one another by the fireside as was their usual way. 

Erestor, however, had not yet moved to sit.  “Celeb, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, mela-nin, anything.”

Erestor took a breath and cleared his throat, and Celebrimbor grew uneasy of just what had his lover looking so… unhappy. 

“Some while ago you confided in me your reservations regarding Annatar.”

“Yes?” Celebrimbor prompted, now doubly concerned.

“But you have been spending so much time with him of late.  Perhaps your opinion has changed,” Erestor said dejectedly. 

Celebrimbor watched Erestor closely for a moment before setting aside the drinks in his hands and walking over to Erestor.  “Eres,” he said, reaching to hold Erestor’s hand between his, “no, my opinion has not changed.  I have been in his company for no reason other than improving my craft and, honestly, because I prefer to keep my eye on him.  I do not wish to contravene the Brotherhood’s decision, but I would still harken to Ereinion’s counsel.  So far he’s given me no reason to speak against him, but I shall not lower my guard.

“Now, in case your misgivings should be of a less political nature, let me tell you that in my sight there is no fairer creature upon Arda than he who stands before me now.” Celebrimbor’s other hand came up to lovingly stroke Erestor’s cheek.  “This Elf, in wonder of whom I stand transfixed… with slender fingers, fairer than mithril; glossy hair as dark as finest lebethron; eyes grey that mirror the clouds of a winter’s day; and those lips that intoxicate me as sure as any wine.  This Elf, who’s wit is piercing and swift as an arrow, but who’s tongue is silver and honourable as a royal diadem….  This Elf alone do I love.” Celebrimbor tugged Erestor close and kissed him deeply as his fingertips ghosted over Erestor’s ear-points.  “And if this Elf, the fairness of whom no creation of mine shall ever rival, can love a rough-handed, simple-minded, Dispossessed smith like me… then I know that, truly, the Valar must look favourably upon me in such ways as I was once sure were impossible.”

“Forgive me, Celeb,” Erestor said softly, wrapped his arms around Celebrimbor and resting his forehead upon his lover’s broad shoulder.  “I do love you, rough of hand but strong of arm.  I know I need fear no rival for your affections, for I have never known a truer heart than yours.”

“No forgiveness needed for no offense given,” Celebrimbor said, pressing a kiss to Erestor’s hair.  “Come, sit and let me prove my love to you so that you may forsake all jealousy.”

Erestor lifted his head then and smiled.  “If that is to be my reward, I may find myself growing jealous every season.”

“Peace!  Or shall I stop your mouth myself?” Celebrimbor grinned, once again kissing Erestor deeply.


	2. Middle Days

Many years passed on into centuries, and Celebrimbor and Erestor worked side-by-side and Eregion flourished, becoming one of the greatest Elf-lands known.  It was said that, were it still permissible, Elves still in Valinor would be seeking trade with the Mírdain of Eregion, so great had their craft grown. 

In this time, Celebrimbor’s own skills increased greatly.  He practiced with the Dwarfs of Khazad-dûm and partnered with their craftsmen in the creation of the great doors at the end of the trade road, which were said to be open always to the Elven allies. 

Once while Celebrimbor was hosting his friend Narvi, going over the designs for the doors, he asked about the moon-letters that the Dwarves sometimes included on their documents.  Celebrimbor wanted to know it was possible to use the craft as they planned to do with ithildin – to write on silver, rather than on paper, letters which would only be revealed in precise circumstances. So Celebrimbor began devising a silver pen which would inscribe metal with moon-letters, just one of the side-projects he undertook for his own enjoyment. 

There were other projects, too, ones which Celebrimbor discussed with absolutely no one, not even Erestor.  For though he still could claim no proof that Annatar was any other than the Valarian emissary he claimed to be, Celebrimbor’s heart would not rest easy when the strange, fair Elf was about.  So, in secret even from those he held most dear, Celebrimbor began to craft powerful rings which he imbued with the ability to preserve and heal and even strengthen the defenses of the lands about them. 

But still those were days of peace and abundance and happiness in Middle-Earth and many endeavours were not so grave.  There was another ring that Celebrimbor was crafting secretly, but for a much gladder purpose.  It would be wrought of mithril, of course, and would take the form of two holly leaves set with three rubies as the berries.  And moon-letters he would inscribe inside the band, meant only for the eyes of the one to whom he gave the ring.

By that point it would be little more than a matter of formality and ceremony, but over the years Celebrimbor had come to learn that Erestor held formality and ceremony rather dear, and there was nothing in his power to give that Celebrimbor would deny his lover.  But neither felt any cause to hurry the rituals of their union, for they were as content as each other as long as they could spend their days cultivating their realm and their nights in one another’s arms – under stars and moon if weather was fair, or beside the fire, it mattered little to them.

Once Celebrimbor had completed to his satisfaction the three secret Rings of Power which he hoped to never put to use, he began crafting the other secret ring.  That one he could fashion much more quickly, for it would not carry powers that would extend so widely. 

* * *

Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1599

The winter celebration was exceptional that year.  Ost-in-Edhil boasted its greatest number of revelers, including many distinguished guests from lands far and wide – from Khazad-dûm and from the Golden Wood, from Greenwood the Great and from Lindon.  There were all the old traditional celebrations, including a long day of dancing and drinking and making merry, culminating in the ritual ‘battle’ between the Holly King and the Oak King. 

Celebrimbor had relished the role of the Holly King since first he came to Eregion.  Early on he had fashioned himself a patently cheeky crown of beryl and ruby holly ‘leaves’ and another of copper and gold that his Oak King opponent would assume on the holiday.  Each year the honour of Oak King was conferred upon a different guest and that year it fell, surprising to none, to King Oropher’s son, Prince Thranduil. 

The celebrators would gather in the grand hall of the city and dance the day away until it was time to make way for the battle.  Then those in the know would vie for the best view, knowing that their Lord always put on the most comical performance of the year when at last the Holly King was vanquished.  Many were the years Erestor laughed until he cried at Celebrimbor’s wildly overdramatic death scenes, though the best were always the years when the Oak King was played by one of their chief friends such as Narvi or Ereinion, for they never hesitated to give the Holly King a most gleeful and brutal (mock) ending.

After the battle pantomime, the now-deposed Holly King would spring up, doff his crown, and cry out an invitation for all to join the feast.  As usual, the feast would be followed by songs and poems in the hall, much more sedate once the guests had been duly overfed. 

That night, after enjoying a few of their favourite songs, Celebrimbor reached to take Erestor’s hand and nodded slightly toward the door.  Erestor nodded back and together they slipped out of the hall and on to Celebrimbor’s chambers.

“Leaving the party a bit early, aren’t we?” Erestor teased as he wrapped his arms around Celebrimbor’s waist, once the door was shut behind them.

“Are we?  Perhaps we should return,” Celebrimbor said, his hands on Erestor’s shoulders suggesting no such plan.  “For propriety’s sake, of course.”

“I’ll have the peace of your teasing this night!” Erestor laughed.  “Without my sense of propriety this land would be a tavern with very pretty doors.”

“You knew I was but a simple Elf when first we met,” Celebrimbor murmured, his lips just touching Erestor’s.

“And you knew I was a fussy Elf,” Erestor rejoined, pressing his lips against Celebrimbor’s.

“My beautiful, fussy Elf.  There could be no happiness to eclipse mine, Erestor, mela-nin,” Celebrimbor said, his lips trailing along Erestor’s jawline. 

“You have no need to seduce me, Celeb,” Erestor said, moving to unclasp the top of his fine, wine-red formal robes.

“But how I like to!” Celebrimbor grinned, catching Erestor’s hands to stop him.  “Come, I have something for you,” he said, pulling his lover toward his inner chamber.

Erestor rolled his eyes.  “Yes, that was rather the idea of me attempting to remove my robes,” he grumbled mildly.

“Not that,” Celebrimbor laughed.  “Well, yes, that as well, but first something else – something even more enduring.”  Celebrimbor went to the dressing table and removed from a drawer a small box of lebethron inlaid with silver and brought it over to Erestor.  “It’s nearly finished.”

“Nearly?” Erestor laughed.  “Had you but managed the time a bit -”  His words were cut off by Celebrimbor’s swift kiss.

“I’ll show you,” Celebrimbor smirked.  “I managed the time precisely.  Come,” he said, taking Erestor’s hand and leading him out onto the balcony.

“It’s _cold_ out, Celeb!” Erestor complained, pulling wide his robe sleeves closer about him. 

“Then stand close to me and stoke the forge-fire you lit long ago in my heart,” Celebrimbor said. 

Erestor smiled, pulling Celebrimbor close and enjoying the feel of his lover’s strong arms under his hands.  “A silver tongue to match your silver hand, I see.”

“Warmer now, Eres?” Celebrimbor asked, nuzzling Erestor’s ear-point.

“Quite.  But I still don’t see why we are out here when the bedchamber is warm and soft….”

“Well, had you but let me say what I meant to say before,” Celebrimbor said, stepping back and taking a small silver pen from a pocket inside his robes.  He opened the tiny decorated box and set it on the balcony rail, bending low over it with the pen for a few moments.  Then he closed the box and put away the pen.  “ _Now_ my gift to you is finished.  But, before I give it to you, I must tell you that if you accept this, you also accept all that comes with it.”

“And what comes with it?” Erestor asked.

“My heart,” Celebrimbor said simply.  “All your days at my side, building a life and a land together.  My very _f_ _ëa_ , Erestor.”

“I accepted all that long ago,” Erestor said as his eyes began to glisten in the light of the full moon.

“Aye, but soon it shall be official, for all to know and celebrate with us, not just in our own hearts,” Celebrimbor said, offering the box to Erestor who took it and opened it.

“Celeb…,” Erestor breathed, “it is so beautiful.  This must surely be your finest smithwork yet,” he said, taking the ring and admiring its quality.

“It would have to be to sit on the hand of the one whom I will soon call ‘ _herven_ - _nin’_ ,” Celebrimbor smiled.  “But there is something else as well.  Hold it up to the light and you will see.”

Erestor did so, holding the fine ring up to the light of ithil.  After a moment, a glimmer shown inside the mithril band.  “It is like moon-letters, written on silver!” Erestor said in wonder, “How did you ever devise….  Oh….”  As the word shown clearer and stronger, Erestor’s breath caught.

 _Uiveleth_.  Love eternal.

“I shall always love you, Erestor,” Celebrimbor said seriously, placing the ring on Erestor’s finger.

“And I you, till the unmaking of Arda,” Erestor whispered, holding Celebrimbor tightly.

* * *

_Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1600_

It was morning in late spring, anor’s rays not yet more than a faint, far-off spark in the eastern skies.  Erestor and Celebrimbor rested peacefully in one another’s arms while a mild breeze carried the fragrance of apple blossoms and honeysuckle up to their chamber from the garden below.

Suddenly, Celebrimbor woke as if from a startling dream.  He glanced about the chamber but could see no reason for the intrusion of his rest.  Erestor still slept soundly beside him, and he recalled nothing unpleasant in the dreams he’d walked, only beauty and peace.  Shaking his head, Celebrimbor made to settle back into sleep for another few hours before rising at Erestor’s poking him to come to breakfast before the cakes grew cold.  It was a long-since established routine.

Then there was a blast of wind, rushing out of the east, down from the Hithaeglir.  It had passed almost before it began, but with it came a blinding flash that filled Celebrimbor’s mind and the ring he wore began to burn on his hand so that he pulled it off and flung it across the room.  And he knew that all the years of peace and prosperity that Eregion had enjoyed had just turned against them all.

“Celeb?” Erestor murmured, his eyes clearing gradually.  “What is it?”  Erestor sat up beside his lover, but Celebrimbor just stared silently as if caught in a dragon’s gaze.  “Celeb?   You’re frightening me, say something.”

“The doom of us all is upon us,” Celebrimbor said at last, his voice low and flat.  Then he jumped out of bed and rushed to dress.  “I must gather the Mírdain, at once, we must take council.  Come, Erestor, dress, quickly.  I need you with me!”

Erestor blinked a couple times before running to his wardrobe and dressing with as much haste as his lover, though he still knew not why.  He had never seen Celebrimbor in such a state and it was troubling. 

Celebrimbor was just about to hurry out of the bedchamber, when Erestor caught his arm and saw the shock in his fair eyes.  “What has happened, Celeb?” Erestor asked, sounding much calmer than he felt.  “I can’t counsel anything if I do not know -”

“How many years did I say I trusted him not?” Celebrimbor said hollowly.

Erestor felt a sense of dread seeping into him.  “You speak of Annatar,” he said needlessly.

“And now I know,” Celebrimbor nodded.  He pointed to the ring laying in the corner.  “Now I know who he is.  He has found some way of accessing our craftwork….  He would know our minds.  These must be destroyed.  I must gather the Mírdain.”

Celebrimbor started to move away but Erestor stopped him again.  “Who?  _Who_ is he?” Erestor asked desperately.

“He is Sauron,” Celebrimbor replied fearfully.

Erestor’s eyes went wide.  “Valar no….”

“Yes.  How we could have been so thoroughly deceived….  I woke suddenly and there was a fell wind come down from the east… and then I knew him, I knew his mind, and my ring burned….  He would snare us through these rings that he helped us create.  We must destroy them, quickly, and raise our defenses.”

“Celeb – my ring…,” Erestor said, starting to remove the ring of mithril ereg with which Celebrimbor had promised they would wed, not even five months earlier.

“No, Eres,” Celebrimbor said quickly, clasping Erestor’s hands to stop him.  “That ring is safe, I swear to you.  I alone created that for you, with neither the aid nor knowledge of any other.  No harm will come to you because of that ring, not ever.” He pulled Erestor close to him, vowing to himself to keep Erestor safe at all costs.

Then Celebrimbor pulled away.  “There are other rings, Erestor….  Not like yours, but which I also made unaided.  There are three and I fashioned them with the intent that they should be used to defend entire realms, chiefly our own.  But I fear now that we must not attempt to use them, for the magic of these rings would draw Sauron’s notice – he would recognize it.  I meant them as a guard against Annatar, thinking him no more than some brigand like those of my forebears…. I could never have imaged I should have been inventing protection against one of the _Maia_!  Your ring… your ring has similar magic, but not the same. It is of my own devising.  It is a magic of the heart, one which _he_ can never know or access.

“Please, come, help me gather the rings of the Mírdain and decide what must be done next.  I fear the road now ahead of us will be long and perilous.”

“Only half as long and half as perilous, then, for we shall walk it together,” Erestor said resolutely.  He then took a leather purse from his wardrobe and went to put Celebrimbor’s ring in it.  He sighed.  “And to think people dislike me when I come to collect excises with this bag.”

 


	3. Late Days

_Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1600s_

As the years after the forging of the One Ring stretched out, Eregion began to turn inward and decline.  The laughter and cheer that had once been the very music of the land were now stifled and muffled.  Travel and trade fell off sharply, with any unexpected strangers subject to interrogation at the borders.  The prosperity that had been enjoyed for so long began to run thin. The celebrations at high days that had been legendary ceased and observances became small, quiet matters mainly kept at one’s own hearth. 

Many rings that had been fashioned with Sauron’s counsel had been gathered and destroyed, but comfort and ease was not so readily won back.  Just because the rings were gone didn’t mean the land was safe – it was generally believed to be only a matter of time until Sauron gathered a force to challenge Eregion.  After all, they knew his secrets just as he knew theirs. 

And so Celebrimbor established outposts to keep watch for any suspicious movements in nearby lands.  He also spent years fortifying Ost-in-Edhil so that if there was an attack, they could pull as many of their people as possible into the city.  Armies were increased such that had once been mostly a matter of technicality, there only for ceremonial purposes.  Nearly all the smithies of the Mírdain were converted to weapons and armour forges.  Things of pure beauty and ornament were luxuries not to be concerned with anymore.  Bit by bit, even gardens fell into neglect and started to become overrun with weeds.

Celebrimbor abandoned his forge, no longer taking joy in the crafting of metal and jewels, and began spending more time behind his desk.  He convinced himself that he was needed there to oversee defense strategies and renegotiate trade policies.  All he was really doing was taking up space, spending long hours scrutinizing maps and the histories of old wars and battles, and questioning everything several times over.  Many were the times Erestor had to insist that Celebrimbor leave him to his work and go aid the building of the outer defenses or some such. 

It was difficult to watch as Celebrimbor waxed grim, but Erestor knew that his own moods were running impatient and snappish in those days, too.  It was only with one another that they found an ease of their cares and concerns, but with all joy and merriment being so muted in those days, they agreed to wait until such as time as the threat in the east had been dispelled before making their union official and known to all. 

* * *

_Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1693_

“Celeb… come and take your rest, please?” Erestor said, stepping out onto the balcony where his lover stood in the middle of the night, gazing southward.

“I will have no rest, Eres,” Celebrimbor sighed wearily.  “It is close.  I can feel it.  It won’t be long.”

“All the more reason to rest now,” Erestor said, his hand on Celebrimbor’s arm.

Celebrimbor shifted to wrap his arm around Erestor and pull him close.  He stroked fingers down Erestor’s arm, clad in a sleeping tunic of fine sapphire silk.  Celebrimbor himself stood in just his leather leggings.  He had spent the day in the smithies for the first time in years, helping to forge swords with no cunning magic but the old methods and traditions that smiths had used since Aulë first sang the craft into being.

“You hold me and I have rest sufficient,” Celebrimbor murmured, burying his face against Erestor’s neck.

“Then grant me my rest and come lie with me?” Erestor asked, kissing Celebrimbor’s ear-point.

“I can refuse you nothing,” Celebrimbor said, looking up and framing Erestor’s face in his hands for a long kiss.

Three days later, a communiqué arrived from one of Eregion’s scouts, telling Celebrimbor of vast armies of orcs in a far eastern wasteland beyond the Ephel Dúath and he knew he could delay no longer in his plan.

“Erestor, I need you, quickly,” he said, looking into the planning chamber where Erestor was working with several associates on a treaty revision. 

Celebrimbor didn’t wait, but hurried away immediately, leaving Erestor to sigh and shake his head and instruct his colleagues to continue on.

“Celeb, what can be so pressing?” Erestor asked, catching Celebrimbor up near his private quarters.

Celebrimbor didn’t answer, but held out his arm and ushered Erestor into the bedchamber, where travelling garments were already laid out.

“Please speak to me, mela.  What is this, where are we going?” Erestor said after a moment. 

Celebrimbor took even longer to respond.  He looked torn and doubtful.  “You remember I told you about the three rings I made, alone?” he said eventually, his voice low.

“Yes,” Erestor said concernedly.  Celebrimbor had not spoken of anything to do with any of those things in years.

“These are the same,” Celebrimbor said, handing a small oblong case to Erestor.  “And now the time has come that we must get them out of here.  They’ve got to be hidden, out of his reach, well before he arrives.  I do not expect we have even another two years….”

“And we mean to accomplish that in what way?” Erestor asked, looking pointedly at the clothes set out and realizing they were all his items, none of Celebrimbor’s.

“You must take them, ride to Lindon and seek Ereinion’s protection for these.  He will understand that they ought not be used, for his wisdom has proved a far better leader than mine.”

Erestor had never heard Celebrimbor sound so despondent and he shook his head.  “Celebrimbor, I have no desire to ride to Lindon or anywhere else.  If the fight is closing in, I would stand beside you -”

“No, it must be you, and no other,” Celebrimbor said, clasping Erestor’s shoulders.  “I cannot trust this to another.”

Erestor took a long breath.  “Then I must plan.  I should be able to make the journey and get back before winter grows too forbidding in those northern ways -”

“Eres… you…,” Celebrimbor shook his head as if the words didn’t want to be spoken.  “You must remain there, in safety.”

Erestor just stared.  “That’s out of the question.  I will deliver the rings into protection, but you cannot think I will stay and hide with them.”

“Erestor, do not think of it as hiding, I know the strength of your heart and -”

“You’re not going to send me away to be kept with your jewels like some dragon’s hoard!” Erestor flared.

Celebrimbor bowed his head.  He’d known his lover wouldn’t react well, but….  “Erestor, I’m begging you.  You have been the only thing of worth in my life, and if I am to meet Sauron in open warfare, I must know that you are safe.  I could bear the loss of everything, but if I have not you when this is over, I might as well walk into the arms of a balrog today.”

“Do not say those things!” Erestor cried with a shudder.  “You talk as if you expect this to be the ruination of all….”

Celebrimbor flagged a bit again and his gaze took on a distant vacancy.  “ _On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East…. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well…. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever,_ ” he said hollowly, reciting the curse laid upon the House of Fëanor by Lord Mandos himself.

“You were no kinslayer!  You have harmed none, you have estranged yourself from your own family and proved yourself more worthy and noble than any of your line ever has been since the days of the Trees!”

But Celebrimbor was not convinced.  “It is my failing that has lead us to this.  Had I been a worthy leader, I would have overrode the Brotherhood when they favoured ‘Annatar’ and appealed for the gain and use of his knowledge.  I allowed to counsel of those I know to be wise and just to be discounted, and I put by the counsel of my heart, for I feared more to be counted a tyrant, and my own pride could not conceive of an enemy who I could not manage.  And now it is upon me to defend my people against Morgoth’s own lieutenant, in payment of my Noldorian foolishness.  And mayhap that will be enough and I can win back peace and come to you again and let us live our lives as quietly as we may.  Whether here or in some other realm, it is the treason of my heart to say I care not, for I have no home, no allegiance, unless you be there, too.”

“Swear to me,” Erestor whispered, unable to speak louder as he held Celebrimbor as tightly as he could, “swear to me that you will come.”

“I will come as soon as it is safe, Eres.  When I know that he will not pursue me, I will come,” Celebrimbor murmured against Erestor’s ear.

“You have to,” Erestor said, fighting to keep his voice from breaking.  “You owe me a proper wedding.”

A shaky laugh broke from Celebrimbor’s lips.  “Were our _f_ _ëar_ not already long since one, I should marry you this moment.”

“I said a proper wedding.  Not a rushed one,” Erestor said, pulling himself together and straightening up.  “I need maps.  And whatever I should need to impart to Ereinion about these rings.  And whether you shall send thrushes or crows with tidings.  And do not wait until you are desperate for reinforcements to send for aid from Lindon – you must send the moment you know you are outmatched, for it will take them time….  And don’t forget our allies in Khazad-dûm.”

 Celebrimbor caught Erestor’s hand just as he started to pull away toward the riding gear ready for him.  “Erestor.  I shall never cease to love you, for you have given my life meaning.”

“I will not accept your goodbyes,” Erestor said stiffly.  “Now, go see that I have provisions and a properly saddled mount whiles I gather what I need here.”

Erestor waited until Celebrimbor had left his chambers before sinking down beside the bed and letting his tears fall.

Only an hour later, Erestor was at the stables, his horse expertly tacked and well-provisioned.  He stood holding Celebrimbor in a desperate embrace, hoping the memory of his beloved’s arms around him would see him through until they could be reunited.  At last, Erestor mounted and began the long ride north to Forlindon and the court of the High King of the Noldor.

“So rides my only light of hope,” Celebrimbor whispered.  “Valar, though you may despise me fiercely, keep him but safe and I will give everything in recompense.”

 

 


	4. Endings

_Forlond, SA 1693_

A rider clad in dark, travel-worn garments arrived early one evening at the House of Gil-galad.  Ereinion came down to the courtyard to greet his friend from the south with a smile that quickly faded when he took in Erestor’s grim countenance.  Erestor dismounted and made to bow to the High King, but Ereinion stopped him. 

“Don’t be foolish, we are friends.  Come inside.  Your coming was unlooked for, but we have plenty of accommodation here.  I will have rooms settled for you, a hot bath, and a good meal,” Ereinion said. 

Erestor grasped Ereinion’s arm.  “I must speak with you,” he said lowly.  “At once, and alone.”

Ereinion’s brow creased at Erestor’s urgency and nodded.  “Come, then, to my own chambers.”

“I apologise that I cannot waste time in pleasantries,” Erestor said as Ereinion closed the door behind them.  “And I fear that once I sink into that hot bath you speak of I may melt like soap and sleep for a week.”

“When did you set out?” Ereinion asked, helping Erestor out of his travelling coat. 

“Just over a fortnight ago,” Erestor said, sitting gratefully in a chair by Ereinion’s hearth.

“You’ve ridden hard,” Ereinion said, drawing up another chair.  “How bad is it, my friend?” he asked, clasping Erestor’s arm.

“It has not yet broken upon us,” Erestor sighed, “but we have reason to believe that when it does, it will be as the waves that took Beleriand under.”

“Celebrimbor needs reinforcements?”

Erestor gazed into the fire until its dancing began to make him dizzy.  “If he has not sent for them, then I cannot say.  I come on another, secret purpose.”

“You have my attention,” Ereinion nodded.

“I need not tell you how Eregion has been since he was revealed to us.  We destroyed many of the rings he aided the smiths in creating, but Celeb fears there are some still missing.  But more than this, there are three rings which surpass the power in all those others.  ‘Annatar’ had no hand in their making, Celeb worked alone and secretly, but the magic he wrought them with is of the sort taught them by him.  You see… he was sure that ‘Annatar’ was no more than the sort of treacherous brigand amongst which Celeb’s own father and uncles were counted….  Celeb thought we could obtain his knowledge and skill and turn him out if he proved false.”

Ereinion sighed.  “I will not say that I thought Annatar much more than that, either.  And I know how Celeb rues his lineage.  Mayhap he thought he could prove himself better by overcoming Annatar if he thought him cut from that same cloth.”

“I would doubt it not,” Erestor said sadly.  “Ever does he wear like a heavy mantel the guilt of things in which he had no hand.  But this is why I have come.”  Erestor took a pack from over his shoulder and withdrew a box.  “These are the three secret rings, Ereinion.  If Sauron gets his hands on these, together with his ring, he could unmake Middle Earth.  Celeb fashioned them with powers of protection and the ability to preserve, but Sauron has the ability to turn all things to evil and so Celeb feels that these must never be used while Sauron possesses a controlling ring.”

Erestor sat with Ereinion for a while, explaining to him the power in each ring.  Ereinion agreed to keep them safe and unused until such a time as Sauron was defeated and Celebrimbor called for the rings to be returned.

“And now I have one final errand to discharge,” Erestor said, handing the box of rings to Ereinion, “for I must also sue for your shelter of me.  If you have some treasure house, go ahead and put me in it with these accursed rings, for Celeb begs me to stay here, where I am out of harm’s way, instead of standing with him until whatever end.”

Ereinion sighed.  “Come, Erestor, you have the freedom of my home for as long as need be.  You know that Celebrimbor loves you beyond all else.  If anything happened to you… his grief would claim him as surely as any sword-stroke.  I have known him many years; it has always been as you say about that mantel of guilt woven of the misdeeds of our kin.  But when he met you, he became a different Elf, happy and proud in such ways as I never imagined him.  That is why he wants you kept safe.”

“And what shall I do if I lose him to this war?” Erestor whispered wearily.

“Let us not talk of those things,” Ereinion said, grasping Erestor’s arm.  “Come, let me show you to your rooms.  There will be that hot bath by now, and anything you should want for, just call.”

Erestor allowed himself to be lead for a while, but then stopped.  “Ereinion… what am I to do here?  Sit in your hall and worry about him until word comes at last?”

“Of course not, Erestor.  Sit with me in counsel – I know your skill at negotiation and your rapier wit, for I’ve been on the sharper end of it a time or two!  But now is not the time for work.  You need rest, and decent food.  I’ll wager you’ve eaten nothing by lembas since you departed Eregion.”

Erestor could not argue the High King’s logic.  “Ereinion, promise me you will go to his aid when he calls?”

“You have my word, dear friend.  Ost-in-Edhil will not stand alone.  And were it in my power, I should also give my word that your realm should stand ever after, but no matter what happens, you and Celebrimbor and your loyal people will always have the welcome of Lindon.”

* * *

_Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1695_

“Their numbers are too many,” Celebrimbor said, dragging a hand through his hair.  “They will be upon our doorstep in weeks – and it will take at least as long for Ereinion to muster and send a host.”

“We can fight them, we have the power!” argued Celebrimbor’s lieutenant, Vaneldur. 

“Be reasonable!  Put aside your Noldorin pride and see sense – Sauron has legions passing Fangorn daily, our scouts tell us.  We are only so many.  We must have aid – Lindon, Nan Laur, Khazad-dûm….”

“Nan Laur?  What, for the White Lady to come and resume her rule over us?  Did we not achieve more than any other Elf-land in Ennor since she was overthrown?” another smith, Minalquar, demanded.

“It was never an _overthrow_ ,” Celebrimbor snapped.  “You have for so long fancied you drove Galadriel and Celeborn from here.  Think you that either of them could be forced so easily?  I negotiated for this land and they were happy enough to remove to the east because their trees weren’t flourishing here as it was.  Now, stop wasting time on these foolish grudges before we all perish here like sitting ducks!  We do not possess the power to repel -”

“We have the power while we have these,” Vaneldur insisted, bringing forth a box containing sixteen rings.

Celebrimbor was profoundly silent, staring at the rings as though his gaze alone could melt them down.  “These rings…” Celebrimbor seethed, his heart hammering upon an anvil of fear and betrayal, “these rings are the reason this war is upon us.  They were to have been seized and destroyed.  You knew the threat!  You knew that Annatar – the one I distrusted for so long – was Sauron himself and that he could control these rings.  You saw him yourselves, all of you, as did I, the moment he assumed his own ring.  And yet you hid these rings?!”

“We can wield them against him!” Vaneldur shouted.  “You would have us surrender our only advantage – you who _claim_ to be our leader, but sit brooding amongst your scrolls and cleaving to your would-be husband!”

“Get out of this city,” Celebrimbor ordered, grabbing the box of rings.

“You have no right to -”

“You have betrayed us _all_!” Celebrimbor roared.  “Were it not for my refusal to approach my doom in the same taint as my fathers, I would hew your prideful head from your shoulders where you stand!  Now, go!  And with you any who still stand with this deceitful dragon!”

* * *

_Forlond, SA 1697_

There had been no word, no thrush or crow with news of the war raging in the south, for weeks.  The mood in Lindon was tense and somber, though Ereinion frequently assured them that Elrond was a capable commander and would lead as many gains with as few losses as possible. 

Day after day, Erestor endeavoured to assist with the running of Lindon to the best of his ability, submerging his heavy, lingering dread in work as was his wont. 

One afternoon, Erestor sat in a council chamber, annotating a missive from the Queen of Men in Númenor when suddenly his left hand began to feel strange.  He did his best to ignore it, as he had the ache in his back that had been bothering him since morning.  Then his whole body began to burn with pain, he gasped to breath and pushed away from the desk he was working at, staggering to the door. 

The elves who had been working with him stared up as their visiting counsellor cried out, doubled over, hobbling along as though he’d been grievously injured, but there was nothing seeming wrong.  They abandoned their pens and followed, unsure how to help and rather afraid.  Erestor staggered a few steps more along the balcony, then fell to his knees, screaming as in unendurable agony, and collapsed, silent and still.

From the King’s hall further along, Ereinion rushed out at the cries.  He stopped in shock at the sight of his friend, lying motionless and ashen-faced.  “What happened?  What happened to him?” Ereinion murmured in fear and confusion as he knelt beside Erestor, lifting him into his arms.

“My lord, he… he suddenly rose and cried out.  We know not…,” a scribe stammered.

“Let’s get him to his chambers.  Fetch a healer at once,” Ereinion said, bearing Erestor himself.  He had a terrible feeling that the war against Sauron had just taken a terrible turn and knew that if he was right, Erestor would be like to perish from a grief that no healer could alleviate.

* * *

_Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1697_

“Stand aside, you useless dross,” growled the fell voice of Sauron from within blackened armour.

“There is only one way you will get by me, Annatar,” Celebrimbor vowed, standing firm in front of the doors of the Houses of the Mírdain. 

“Do not use that foul Elf name with me!” Sauron bellowed.

“It is the very name you introduced yourself to me by, _lowered_ by your own will to be like us.  And now you stand before me again and this time I say to you that you shall not have my leave to enter.  And I will call you Annatar evermore, until my last breath.”

“That can be swiftly accomplished.  Give me the rings!  They are my right for you never could have made them without my aid.”

“That gives you no rights to them or anything else,” Celebrimbor sneered.

“But I shall have them in the end, along with the Three, as you beg me to hasten your death.  Take him!” Sauron ordered his guard, who set upon Celebrimbor, grasping him only after five fell in the attempt and one struck a blow to Celebrimbor’s back.

They dragged Celebrimbor into the smithies and orcs were instructed to stoke the fires hot.  Irons were heated and chains used to bind Celebrimbor so that he could not escape their torment as Sauron continued to press for the location of the rings.  He gave up nothing but the cries he could not force himself to swallow.

Eventually, a servant of Sauron hurried in with a box containing sixteen rings recovered from a pile of scrap metal intended to be melted down. 

“And now I only need know where you have hidden the Three,” Sauron said, seizing a hot iron and thrusting it into Celebrimbor’s thigh.  He cackled like thunder, shaking the building as Celebrimbor screamed.

“I will tell you nothing!” Celebrimbor shouted defiantly.

“Take off his hand,” Sauron commanded the nearest orc.  “The left one, I fancy, where he will have worn a ring I once instructed him in making.”

Now by a mighty force of will Celebrimbor refused to satisfy Sauron with a display of pain.  He knew there was not much left, and it was only left to him to die well.

“So now you know, Telperinquar, that your last breath is nigh.  Your city, your land, your people will be erased from time henceforth… and all because you would not tell me where those rings may be found.  You buy but little time, and it is more than your life was ever worth.  Go – go to your lords of the west, go to your lord Mandos and beg his help.  Your weak gods shall aid you not for they hate you, as I hate you, for the pathetic little upstart that you are.  This is your last chance!  Where are the rings?!”

Celebrimbor stared back, directly at Sauron’s eyes.  “You shall have nothing from me,” he breathed laboriously.  “Nothing but these joints… which shall yield you but little!”

“Kill him!” Sauron roared, his very ire darkening all around him.  “Then put his body on a pole that his friends may see the result of treachery as our armies mow them down like tall grass!”

As orc archers nocked their thick, black arrows and drew back their heavy bowstrings, Celebrimbor lifted his eyes to a hole in the roof and the sky above, dark with the clouds of war.  “I am sorry, Eres," he whispered.  "I am sorry.”

* * *

_Forlond, SA 1698_

For weeks after his collapse, Erestor slept an unnatural sleep, eyes shut and grey of visage, so that he looked as one suspended between life and death – on the thither side of life, at that. 

Ereinion began receiving messages from Elrond frequently: 

_Celebrimbor fallen, along with Ost-in-Edhil._

_Eregion overrun – attempting northward retreat._

_Little hope, we are all but overwhelmed._

_Hope at last! Joint force of Durin’s army and Amroth of Nan Laur divert Sauron’s forces to south.  We make for the Refuge._

_Word from south front: Dwarves driven back to mines – have closed western gate._

_Stocking provisions against prospect of siege.  We may endure at least a year – what word from Tar-Minastir?_

It was months before Erestor began to come out from the fog which had held him fast, but he was greatly weakened and did not rise from his bed.  Ereinion came to sit with Erestor often, but feared to bring Erestor the news he’d had from Elrond.  Erestor read his friend’s concern though, and shook his head wearily, saying, “He is dead.  I know that, for one half of my fëa is gone.  More than that, I am still not dead, so maybe the Valar refuse to accept me.  Can any word you’ve had do me any more harm than that?”

“I hope not, my friend,” Ereinion said sadly, holding Erestor’s hand.  “Will you not let us ready a ship for you?  If you attempt to stay, you are liable to -”

“I will not go west,” Erestor said.  “I am sure that they would not admit me.  If I am fated to lie here and fade, so be it.  I have nothing left.”  Erestor let his eyes close, then, and slipped back into the sort of sleep that Elves do not know. 

 


	5. New Beginnings

_Forlond, SA 1701_

“Elrond, it is good to see you,” Ereinion said, hurrying down the steps to embrace his herald.

“It hasn’t been so long,” Elrond said with a smirk. 

“I rather think the time went swifter for you,” Ereinion said, leading Elrond up into the house.  “Come, have a drink with me and tell me how things go at the refuge.”

“It goes well,” Elrond said, unclasping his riding cloak, “now the siege is ended and the western lands clear again.  But there are so many… so much heartbreak in those who watched their lands decimated.  I think there will be parties setting out this way for years to come with Elves who can no longer bear their griefs.  And yet, many are determined to remain and make a new life.  You know these stubborn Noldor,” Elrond smiled.

“Will you take it on, Elrond?  They need a leader,” Ereinion said. 

“If you wish it, I would happily assume this task,” Elrond nodded. 

“That is good.  Mithlond is a haven for those departing west, but our people need a haven for staying here, as well.  Elrond, something else I must ask….  Celebrimbor was a dear friend of mine.”

Elrond sighed deeply and took a long draught of the wine Ereinion had handed him.  “I don’t know when I have seen the like,” he said, drawing a hand over his eyes as if to shut out the memory of the noble Elf’s pierced body held aloft by a host of orcs in Sauron’s vanguard.

As Elrond described Celebrimbor’s end, Ereinion wept for the loss of his friend, and knowing that he would have to be the one who brought this word to Erestor, lest he should hear of these things from other, careless tongues which did not know the depth of Erestor’s grief. 

“Never more will the Holly King rise at mid-summer,” Ereinion said sadly.  “Elrond, Master Erestor remains here.  He has not faded, but nor does he thrive.  I know not what may help him.  He will not sail, but… he has lost all.  Although, I fear he may yet have more to lose now, and mayhap that will be his undoing.  But if it is not, do you think he might have refuge and solace at Imladris?  Perhaps if he has a purpose….”

“We can but try,” Elrond said.  “His reputation as a counsellor precedes him, and I surely shall need sound counsel as we establish a new realm.”

* * *

“Good evening, Erestor.  I hope you’ve had sound rest,” Ereinion said, stopping after his supper as usual.

“Are we not beyond all that?” Erestor said.  “I may be half-faded these last years, but I am not senseless.  Elrond Peredhil is come – reporting on the refugees being sheltered, of course.  Elves of Eregion, many whom I counted as friends….  And so you come with some news.  And it can only be terrible for you are earlier than usual, which tells me you ate but little, and you are cheerier than usual, which tells me you wish soften this blow with your kindness.”

“As you say, you are not senseless,” Ereinion nodded, drawing up a chair.  “Erestor, these words I must bring you are bitter, and I know not if they will be what finally claims your will.  Just remember, you can seek the west, my friend.”

“Then you shall tell me of how he died,” Erestor surmised. 

“I would not have you hear of it in whispers or rumours or with details missing or embellished or in some lament.”

Erestor nodded.  “I would know everything, for I suffered with him, even so far away from him….”

As Ereinion recounted all that Elrond had told him, Erestor lie upon the bed, eyes closed and weeping freely.  It was the first time since leaving Eregion that he allowed himself to be overcome with emotion. As he lie there, he remembered the sound of Celebrimbor’s laughter and the taste of lips and the feeling of being held in his strong arms and the sparkle of love in his deep blue eyes.  He looked at the ring that had never left his hand since Celebrimbor put it there, and Erestor began to understand the power of his ring.  If the other three rings had the power to protect and preserve entire realms, this one had the power to preserve just one Elf, the one so beloved of its maker, against the ordinarily fatal loss of his other half.

“Erestor, my friend,” Ereinion said at length.  “I do not mean this to chasten you in any way, especially having had to impart this latest sorrow, but I feel I must speak as friend to both you and Celebrimbor.  This half-life is but a poor memorial to one who found joy and contentment for the first time in his life when he found you.  There is much will at work in all the aspects of the life of the Eldar, you know this, and you must one day settle your will on continuing or ceasing.  I do not think fading a fitting tribute -”

“There will be no fading, Ereinion.  I see it now.  I admit that I have tried to will it so many times while lying here, and I thought that my surrender was rejected.  But now I know what it is that sustains me.  And so, I cannot let my grief kill me, and I dare not pass onward to the Undying Lands to sit and wait and hope the Valar find the mercy to release him back to me instead of sentencing him to the fate it is said his grandfather the Kinslayer suffers. 

“Give me some time, I ask you, that I may be alone with this latest grief, and then I shall make myself ready for what _continuing_ I may.  What you say is right.  His memory will not be a broken wraith of an Elf any longer.”

“It does me such good to hear you speak like this,” Ereinion said, grasping Erestor’s hand.  “I had feared so long that you would both be lost.  Take what time you need, my friend, be with all your many wonderful memories of him - which shall not leave you after this – and then come speak with me.  New days are upon us.”

Erestor nodded, and turned away as Ereinion left him.  “New days,” he murmured.  “But new days shall come yet again ere I see my beloved.  But when the day comes, nothing shall part us for a second time,” he said, bringing the ring of mithril and ruby to his lips.


End file.
